


Maybe Tomorrow Waters Will Clear

by murron



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, Flashback, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-12
Updated: 2010-05-12
Packaged: 2017-10-09 10:19:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murron/pseuds/murron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"No, honestly, I think it's a great idea," Crowley scoffed. "Stellar, really." (5.21 Coda)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe Tomorrow Waters Will Clear

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers up to and including 5.21  
> Standard Disclaimers Apply
> 
> **WARNING**: Possible implied character death. Yes. It's ambiguous.

** _Blue Earth, Minnesota, 1992_ **

Weather-reports promised the summer of the century: record temperatures, green grass wilting to yellow and blue skies as far as the eye could see. It could’ve been great if Sam hadn’t felt like he’d been grounded.

Dad had dropped them off at Pastor Jim’s the first week of the summer holiday, telling them to go on, have a good time. It would have worked in theory except Sam didn’t really know anyone here; the friends he’d made throughout the term he’d left behind in Fremont, Ohio.

He could go down to Beyers Field, see if the other kids needed an extra on the ballteams. But even if they didn’t reject him from the get go they would look at him sideways, ask him questions and assume he’d be too scrawny to slug proper. They’d tell jokes he didn’t get, make fun of teachers he didn’t know and today it just seemed like too much trouble.

So he’d holed up in the shady part of Pastor Jim’s porch, sitting on the porch swing with a bunch of dog-eared comic-books at his side. The Pastor kept a whole stack of them just for when Sam and Dean came to visit. This time round, he’d also promised to get Sam a library card and Sam liked the idea. Books were as good as ballgames in the park. Better maybe.

It had to be around noon when Dean came back to Pastor Jim’s house for a break. Sam could hear his brother’s off-key whistling even before Dean walked past the lilac bushes that fringed the garden. He’d been out all morning, earning some pocket money by way of painting a neighbor’s fence.

Sam was pretty sure Mrs. Keegan would have invited Dean for lunch but Dean never stayed around for that sort of thing. Why he’d rather fix himself a sandwich than have someone cook for him Sam never understood.

When Dean clumped up the porch steps, Sam looked up, catching a glimpse of Dean’s stained t-shirt and the pink blotches of a sunburn on his cheeks.

“What’re you doing, shrimp?” Dean asked, wiping his paint-flecked hands on his jeans. “Shouldn’t you be down with the other Goonies, kicking a ball around?”

Sam shrugged, submerging behind his comic-book. “Don’t want to.”

“That so,” Dean mused, giving the swing a shove with the tip of his sneaker.

Sam aimed a kick at Dean’s leg and missed, but then he didn’t really try hard anyway.

Pushing his sweat-dampened hair from his forehead, Dean plunked down next to Sam, rocking the swing until the rusty suspension chain creaked.

“So if you’re not doing anything special,” Dean said, snatching up the bag of cookies Sam had left under the swing. “You want to go down to Brazil?”

Sam, who’d been prepared to fight over the Oreos, froze in mid-attack. His gaze snapped to Dean’s face. “Really?” he asked, heart thumping a little faster. “What about Mrs. Keegan’s fence?”

“I can finish tomorrow,” Dean shrugged. “Come on. I’ll race you to the cemetery.”

* * *

The woods started out back behind the cemetery, running in humps and ridges to the Blue Earth River. Officially these parts belonged to the city township but to Sam and Dean, the strip of wilderness meandering through the farmland had always been Brazil.

In the height of summer, the woods were choking with knotweed and bramble but Sam still new their routes through the thicket, remembering the landmarks with glee.

“Watch out for the snipers,” Dean called, bolting over a log and landing in a crouch. Sam ducked behind a tree, scanned the sun-dappled slope before scouting ahead.

They used to play make-believe all the time, pretending they were ninjas or the Uncanny X-Men. Sam still loved the thrill of being someone else but during the last year Dean had outgrown these games, getting into other interests, flipping up the collar of his jacket and talking to girls even though his ears flushed every time he did it. He also went with Dad a lot more often and Sam noticed that Dean talked little whenever they returned from a hunt. It worried Sam sometimes even though he couldn’t put a finger on what bothered him. Dean just usually wasn’t that quiet.

Looking back over his shoulder, Sam decided he much preferred his brother like this: sneaking through Brazil with a white smudge on his forehead like war-paint. Catching Sam’s gaze, Dean put a finger to his lips before pointing at a tangle of second-growth fir. He made their secret sign for stealth-attack and Sam grinned. Dean didn’t just play along for Sam’s sake, he seemed full-on into this and that was the best.

Breaking through the tangle, they crashed on through the underbrush until they reached the old truss bridge; the only crossing south of town. By the time they stumbled onto the wooden deck, Sam was out of breath. He leaned his back against one of the diagonal girders, pressing into the shadow of the truss. Closing his eyes, he could hear the crickets chirping and the river trundling along the banks.

The farm road that led here was hardly used anymore; Sam didn’t even know where it went. He doubted the rundown bridge could support a car anyway.

Knotweed and other vines crawled up the truss arch, parched crawlers trailing down the rusty struts like a curtain. Sam turned and got down to lie flat on his stomach, pushing some of the vines aside to look at the running water. The river was maybe seven yards wide at this point, the water green and clear and flowing swift downstream.

Someone had climbed down into the bracing beams and tied a rope under the bridge, the knotted end swinging above the river surface. Sam knew the town kids came down here sometimes, goofing off in the river or jumping from the bridge even. He knew because he 'd gone with them the last time they'd stayed at Pastor Jim’s. Back then, only one kid had dared to take the leap from the bridge – the others hung back, watching with their pride dented but still too chicken to jump.

Sam would have loved to give it a go but he had hesitated, not wanting to stick out. Being the new kid was hard enough; he didn’t want to balance on the edge of a bridge with the others staring holes into his back.

It would have been different if he’d had one friend there, one person who’d crack a joke or egg him on.

_Double dare you_.

Peering down at the rope, Sam didn’t notice Dean joining him until his brother’s shadow fell across his back.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Dean asked, cheeks dimpling with a smirk.

“Since when are you thinking?” Sam quipped but he could feel the corners of his own mouth twitch. Suddenly he didn’t mind being dumped at Pastor Jim’s. Maybe they could stick around for the rest of the summer, explore the woods some more or even camp out on the parish field. It would take some convincing until Dean would agree to sleep in a tent but Sam had a feeling he might come around.

“Big mouth, little brother,” Dean shot back. “You got some balls to go with that?”

“Jump and find out.”

“After you, princess.”

Sam got to his feet, snatching another look at the drop and imagined how it would feel: Flying under the sky, the free-fall pushing his heart up his throat …

Spine tingling with anticipation, Sam toed off his keds and wrestled his t-shirt up over his head. He climbed into the truss that flanked the bridge until his toes curled over the edge of the last beam. When he turned, Dean stood next to him, bare-chested, some leather charm twisted around his wrist and his face full of freckles. He hooked his fingers through the latticed girders and leaned back, shooting Sam a white-toothed grin.

“You ready?”

“Dude. Born ready.”

“On three. One, two …”

“Cowabunga,” Sam yelled and they both leaped, arms spread, their momentum carrying them far out into the air.

Sam saw the water rushing up to meet him, the sun flashing off the river and he wasn’t afraid at all.

 

** _Detroit, Michigan, 2010_ **

They met up on the American side, the Impala and Bobby’s Chevelle waiting in a small park by the Detroit River. The strings of lights festooning Ambassador Bridge shone like Christmas decoration above the maple trees.

“And you’re sure about the river?” Dean asked, peering doubtfully at the black water. No sign of boat traffic at this late hour.

Cas shrugged. “All waters that flow on this earth run through hell and heaven, too.”

According to Cas, it would be the simplest way to open the gateway to Lucifer’s erstwhile prison: Drop the rings into the water, speak the keywords and turn the river into a threshold that plunged right into the Abyss.

Or something. Sam still thought there should be a Fires of Mt. Doom joke in this.

Leaning with his back against the Impala’s side, he held the angel sword Cas had given him and turned the smooth metal handle in his palm. They’d stopped here by unspoken consent, Cas riding with the Winchesters, Bobby ferrying Crowley because apparently Team Free Will now included a demon.

“All right,” Bobby said, lining up a row of cups on the hood of his car. “Huddle up.”

When he pulled a bottle of Jack Daniels from the footwell, Crowley interceded. “Hold it, Sunbeam,” he protested. “If I’m going to toast my own funeral I’ll bloody well do it in style.”

He produced a bottle of Scotch from his Mackintosh with a flourish and offered it to Bobby. Bobby huffed, but the Scotch’s label seemed to please him. He poured a generous round for all of them and of course Crowley reached for his cup first. “Sláinte,” he said, sipping his Scotch and closing his eyes with a sigh.

Sam wasn’t much for refinement, gulping down most of the whiskey in one go, feeling the smoky warmth pool in his stomach. He watched as Bobby pressed another cup into Cas’ hands.

“Drink up,” Bobby told him. “Do you good.”

Taking his time with his own drink, Bobby leaned against his car, one hand shoved deep into the pocket of his vest. The others clustered around him, Dean perching on the hood of the Chevelle.

In the few days since his miracle recovery, Bobby had regained more than enough of his old zest to call the shots. Even Dean deferred to him but then, once the decision had been made to follow through on Sam’s plan, Dean hadn’t said much of anything.

“Let’s go through this one more time,” Bobby demanded and Sam felt his heart sink.

“Bobby, come on.”

“Humor me.”

“I say yes,” Sam repeated obediently. “Once Lucifer moves in, I’ll put a lid on him and give him a choice: He either jumps back into his box or I’ll stab us both.”

Even before Sam had finished, Dean downed his Scotch and made for the open trunk of the Impala.

“We would all prefer the first option,” Bobby grumbled, scrubbing a hand down his beard.

“Lucifer is arrogant,” Cas offered and swirled his drink around in his cup. “He’ll rather take his chances with a second imprisonment. He escaped once; he’ll be sure he can do it again.”

“That an option?” Dean asked sharply.

Cas looked at him without flinching. “Yes.”

“Not for a long time, it isn’t,” Sam cut in and quickly swallowed the rest of his Scotch. He couldn’t let them doubt now. He needed them behind him all the way.

“Easy peasy, lemon squeezy,” Crowley chimed in, flicking a bit of imaginary dust from his fingernails.

“Shut your trap,” Bobby snapped, tossing the closed bottle back to him.

“Blackmailing the devil,” Crowley scoffed and caught the missile one-handed. “No, honestly, I think it’s a great idea. Stellar, really. Say, Sam,” he added, rocking back on his heels. “When Lucifer takes over your meat and squashes your feeble little mind like a sandfly: Will you at least ask him to give me a headstart?”

“Why don’t you start running now?” Dean growled, handing a loaded rifle over to Cas.

Pushing his hands into his pockets, Crowley pulled his mouth into a sneer. “And miss all the fun? No way.”

Sam let them bicker. Digging his thumb into his enamel cup, he tried to acknowledge the enormity of what they were about to do. Enormity, stupidity – it probably amounted to the same.

At the tail-end of the Impala, Cas tried slinging the rifle over his shoulder but got tangled up in the gun’s strap. Without comment, Dean reached over and sorted him out.

When Sam joined them, Cas turned to face him but Dean got back to rummaging through the trunk.

“Are you ready?” Cas asked, staring at Sam with that weird mixture of detachment and wide-eyed worry.

Sam meant to say ‘yes’ but his mouth was awfully dry. He settled for a nod instead.

“We’ll get the portal open,” Cas assured him, placing his hands flat and warm against Sam’s chest. “You bring him.”

“You’re going to be fine, boy,” Bobby added, voice low and steady. Sam knew that from all the people gathered here, Bobby believed in him the most. He’d kept his faith, even when Sam didn’t deserve it. Sam only wished he wouldn’t disappoint him now.

Closing in on the point of no return, he felt both queasy and light-headed but oddly enough this was just nerves, not nervousness. He didn’t know if this should soothe or scare him. Was he over-confident? Or was he finally ready to face off his demons?

Suddenly Sam wished he could talk to Dean again, just for a minute or two, to get his bearings back. But Dean made a point of avoiding eye-contact, keeping his hands busy all the while. Sam could see how hard Dean clenched his jaw and didn’t need a memo to tell him that Dean was scared.

“I’ll take them off now,” Cas warned him and Sam could feel a rush of heat singing through his torso. Erasing the Enochian sigils took considerably longer than it had etching them in, most likely because Cas could still work about five percent of his mojo.

“Ow,” Sam hissed when it was finally over, hand touching his ribcage out of reflex.

Letting go of him, Cas stepped back. “Call him. He’ll find you.”

“Right,” Sam muttered, wondering how he could get through to Dean. They never made much of goodbyes but still it seemed wrong to part like this.

_Talk to me, man_, Sam thought. _Make a joke at least_.

“See you in a bit,” Dean said, eyes flickering to Sam’s face. Chest tight with emotion, Sam struggled for the right answer but before he could even open his mouth, Cas asked, “Do you have the rings?”

“Sure, honey,” Dean replied sourly. “You want to go down the aisle first?”

It was no use, Sam decided, stowing the words he didn’t say with the bulk of his other regrets. With no more reason to delay they split up, Cas and Dean making for the river, Bobby and Crowley coming with Sam at least part of the way.

* * *

Sam picked a car-park just off the bridge’s ramp and waited under a street lamp. On his way here he’d noticed the emptiness of the streets: no cars, no people. The city might have been already cleared of people for all he knew.

Sam almost expected Lucifer to make him wait but it seemed the devil was just as eager to get it over with as he was. The moment Lucifer entered the parking lot, the street lamp over Sam’s head popped with a shower of sparks.

“Is the show really necessary?” Sam wanted to know, fixing his gaze on the pale figure moving toward him, his sunken face a pale mask in the gloom.

“You know me,” Lucifer smiled. “I like a big entry.”

* * *

_When Lucifer pours into Sam, he almost blacks out, towed under by a squall of red light, not knowing where is up and where is down anymore. Clinging to his sense of self feels like hanging from a precipice. _

_When Sam struggles back to consciousness, time has passed and he’s no longer at the parking lot. He’s halfway up the bridge’s ramp, looking down at the freeway. Two demons lie dead at his feet and he crouches among them, his hands bloody. _

_At the foot of the ramp, Sam catches a glimpse of people fighting. Watching through a crimson haze, he sees demons or Croats, converging on Bobby, Cas and Dean like ants overrunning a carcass. Dean’s yelling his name like he did in Illchester, his voice muffled by the chapel door. Once again, it’s not enough. Lucifer rises like a tide inside Sam, pushing him under, shoving him down into his blood until he can taste nothing but thick, liquid metal._

_Perversely enough it’s that taste which brings Sam around: The tang of blood, _his_ blood, given and earned for better or worse. _

_When he defies Lucifer, the tight reign on his mind he’s learned with Ruby comes in handy. The funneling of power to where he needs it combined with the intimate knowledge of his body, the years of combat training, fuse Sam back into his limbs. Suddenly he is on the outside and Lucifer is on the inside, screeching with surprised rage._

_Sam gets to his feet and takes a rattling breath. When he blinks, the red haze fades from his eyes, leaving him to look at a black sky. He can hear the scuffle of the fight down the ramp but even closer, he makes out a noise like sails flapping. It’s the sound of the world’s fabric wearing thin inside the river which Cas and Dean have turned into a portal._

_The first thing Sam can do is reach into his jacket and close his hand around the sword. He forms his proposal in his mind and Lucifer drives pain like a railroad spike through Sam’s back. The force almost flings Sam to his knees, but he locks his muscles and reclaims control. His strength ebbs and flows but his dominance seems to wax on every incoming wave. _

_Even so, it will be a long struggle._

* * *

Sam trudged up the sloping bridge, hearing the hellhounds howling behind him. The moment he passed under the first tower, all the lights went out, darkness chasing ahead along the suspension cables. Sam clenched his fist around the angel sword and continued walking along the median. He set one foot before the other with hurting knees, the joints chafing like they were filled with powdered glass.

Once he saw nothing but water on either side of the bridge, Sam headed for the railing. Feeling Lucifer wrap like a vine around his bones, he already knew their plan wouldn’t fly. With the devil digging his heels in he could barely walk: raising the tip of the sword to his belly would be damn nigh impossible. But Sam had butted heads with his Dad since he was ten and the mileage made him a stubborn son of a bitch.

As Sam cut across the deck, Lucifer stopped slowing him down and started clawing at the walls of his vessel, tearing into Sam’s flesh from the inside. Pain flooded Sam’s chest and closed like a vice around his heart but he went on breathing and he kept walking. By the time he reached the railing, Lucifer changed tactics and made himself heavy, his essence sinking like molasses into Sam’s veins.

Clenching his teeth, Sam heaved his cramping body over the railing and out between the girders of the truss. His boots scuffed against rough steel, left heel losing contact with solid ground. One hand feeling for the nearest girder, the other clutching the sword, Sam made his way to the drop beyond the truss and the suspension cables.

The wind whipped his hair into his face and tugged at his jacket. Sam concentrated on his feet, the boot-tips swimming in and out of focus. His calves seemed to fill with lead until he couldn’t feel anything from his waist down. When his left leg caved, Sam stretched his arm for the nearest suspension cable, missed it, reached out with his right hand and dropped the sword out of instinct. Clinging to the cable, Sam watched the sword plummet into darkness and felt Lucifer’s glee mix with his own pang of despair.

Feeling the loss of the sword in his empty hand, Sam tried to think that it made no difference, that this had always been a possibility. But still a small part of him had hoped he would come out of this alive.

_Still angling for that white picket fence?_ he asked himself, almost amused because his inner voice sounded like his thirteen year old self.

Hanging on to the twisted steel wire, Sam crouched low and moved to straddle the outmost beam running parallel to the bridge. He wanted to tip his body over the side but the moment he released the cable, his hands dropped to the beam on their own accord, fingers clutching around the steel in a dead-lock. Try as he might, Sam couldn’t let go.

He’d carried the devil all the way to the drop-off, but 150 feet above hell they’d reached a stalemate.

When Sam lifted his head, he realized that Lucifer had not only blacked out the bridge, the whole of Detroit’s river-front seemed blank and dark. The moon was out, a bone-white disk with a milky corona, but without the lights of the city reflecting on the water, the river still gaped like a chasm. You couldn’t even tell if it was still water down there. A sound like ice-floats cracking drifted up to Sam’s perch, making the hair on his arms rise.

Sam struggled to pull up his knee and failed. If he could overbalance just a little they’d be done for but Lucifer had him locked down good. He couldn’t take over Sam’s head but his body? He seemed to nestle in every cell of it, freezing Sam’s limbs.

Heart thumping, Sam wanted to scream with frustration. He wanted to jump, hell, he was ready to, the will to do this right erasing every scrap of fear he had left. Lucifer sensed it too, admitting that, yes, Sam was strong. But not strong enough.

Sweat running cold down his back, Sam knew he wouldn’t be able to keep this up much longer. He dug his fingernails into the relentless steel when he heard a voice calling down to him from the bridge.

Craning around, Sam saw his brother, clutching the railing with white hands.

“Hey Sammy,” Dean shouted. “That you in there?”

Of all the stupid questions to ask … it was so damn typical. Sam couldn’t jump but he could roll his eyes and even from the distance, he recognized the relief on Dean’s face. “Thought so.”

“He’s too strong, man. I can’t …” Sam called and trailed off, tongue heavy in his mouth. “I can’t move.”

The moment he admitted his weakness, his muscles seemed to cramp harder. It didn’t help that Lucifer seemed doubly riled by Dean’s proximity, hate flaring like a bush fire in Sam’s chest. When Lucifer looked at Dean he saw Michael: It didn’t make a difference that Dean never said yes, he still embodied everything the Devil wanted to destroy.

_Cut it out_, Sam thought, sapping more of his strength.

“Where’s the sword?” Dean yelled.

“Lost it. Dean,” Sam begged, forcing the words out of his mouth. “Just. Please. Push me or something.”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean murmured, Sam reading the familiar curse on his lips. He fully expected Dean to tear him a new one, barking at him to cut the crap and fight to the last.

Dean didn’t. Instead, he climbed over the railing and inched along the truss. His face paled as he looked down but he didn’t hesitate. Using one of the suspension cables for balance, Dean sat down on the crossbeam next to Sam.

Sam tensed for the push until it became clear Dean wouldn’t move. Staring at his brother in confusion, Sam took in the blood that ran from a cut high on his forehead and his calm face. Slowly it dawned on him what Dean was about to do.

“Dean,” Sam murmured, feeling like the bottom dropped out of his stomach. Even Lucifer seemed surprised.

“It’s okay,” Dean cut him off, stretching his neck to peer down between his feet. “Phew. That’s a long way down. You got a quarter or something?”

Throat constricting, Sam wanted to yell at him to get the hell back, he didn’t have to do this. It wasn’t too late, Sam should fight Dean on this, try anything, but Sam knew his brother wouldn’t leave. Dean didn’t even hold on hard, he just balanced easily over the void, very much at home in his body and entirely ready to give it up.

Sam felt his eyes sting, struggling with an undertow of worry, gratitude and regret all rolled into one. Dean caught his gaze and shrugged. “Could’ve gone down worse,” he said.

Sam almost laughed at this and suddenly Lucifer didn’t seem all that important. _No worse than anything else we hunted_, Sam thought and found he could breathe easier with Dean at his side.

Slowly, deliberately, Sam relaxed his hands. Exhaling a shaky breath, he heaved his leg over the beam, shifting his weight until he perched beside Dean, the night wind blowing into his back.

Legs dangling over the edge, Dean looked at him with raised brows. “You good to go?” he asked.

“Ready when you are, Louise.”

Dean snorted and set one foot flat against the beam so he could push off better. Way behind them, the deck of the bridge echoed with running feet and Sam could hear Cas shouting for them.

“On three,” Sam said, sliding forward an inch, flexing his fingers on the beam. Inside him, Lucifer’s fury swelled like a balloon, pressing against the insides of his chest. _Going down, bitch_, Sam thought, a wave of satisfaction spreading in his belly.

“One,” he said, smelling the cold rising from the river.

Dean lifted his hands off the beam, gripped the nearest cable and leaned forward. “Two.”

Tensing the muscles in his thighs, Sam braced himself on the heels of his palms. “Three,” he whispered, feeling his body tilt into nothingness.

 

_fin_

_______________________

_12/05/10_

  
Beta by **Eretria**


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